To an initiated listener it would have been
plain that in a short while words would be found inadequate and the
dagger, that medieval forerunner of the slap-stick, brought into play.
But to Agravaine, all inexperienced, it came as a surprise when
suddenly with a muffled thud two bodies fell against the door. There
was a scuffling noise, some groans, and then silence.
And then with amazement he heard the bolt shoot back and a key grate in
the keyhole.
The door swung open. It was dark outside, but Agravaine could
distinguish a female form, and, beyond, a shapeless mass which he took
correctly to be the remains of the two plug-uglies.
'It is I, Yvonne,' said a voice.
'What is it? What has been happening?'
'It was I. I set them against each other. They both loved one of the
kitchen-maids. I made them jealous. I told Walt privily that she had
favoured Dickon, and Dickon privily that she loved Walt. And now--'
She glanced at the shapeless heap, and shuddered. Agravaine nodded.
'No wedding-bells for her,' he said, reverently.
'And I don't care. I did it to save you. But come! We are wasting time.
Come! I will help you to escape.'
A man who has been shut up for two days in a small room is seldom slow
off the mark when a chance presents itself of taking exercise.
Agravaine followed without a word, and together they crept down the
dark staircase until they had reached the main hall.
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